The Wake
by vitko
Summary: [Dreamcatcher] .. An AU ficlet. Pete/Beaver ... just after Duddits' funeral and the wake, the foursome retire to the Clarendon house back in Derry. SLASH.


[Pete and Beaver belong to Stephen King, and original canon characters from _Dreamcatcher_, the book. Original characters have been added for filler. This is all AU. What if Beaver and Pete hadn't have been killed that year at Hole in the Wall? What if they married and tried to get on with their lives? Warning: this is slash. Pete/Beaver slash, in fact. If homosexual ideas offend you, do not read this.]  
  
[Beaver parts written by Vitko. Pete is written by Vitko's partner in crime, who shall remain anonymous at this time.]

It seems like the end of an era. Everyone gathered together for the night, back in Derry, and so much is missing and so much is wrong. Beaver doesn't even know how he made it through the day without crying, because hell, Duddits was the only thing that kept them all pulled together. They all loved the Dudds, each and every one. Henry, Pete, Jonesy and Beaver. Duddits was their Dreamcatcher, the one thing that could always unite them even when things seemed like they were going to shit.   
  
But now, it's all gone. Duddits passed away, last night in his sleep. Roberta stayed up all night by his side, and finally called Beaver shortly thereafter. The rest of them could feel it, Beaver was sure. Because when Duddits died, so did a part of them. Beaver could no longer feel the strong, telepathic links he had shared with the other men over all those years. And Duddits'... his was the first to go out.   
  
The memorial service had been nice, and the four of them sat together, nestled in between bits of families, wives and children. But now it's late, and Beaver sits outside of his father's house, the cool New England air wrestling around him and making him shiver. The wall lining Lamar's backyard is thick and made of granite rock. Beaver always used to like to sit out behind the wall when he was younger. It made him feel like he had escaped a part of the world and entered into his own piece of space. And that's where he made to as soon as they all returned back to his father's house.   
  
It's dark outside... late. Beaver has his shoes and socks off, the cuffs of his dress slacks rolled up to his knees. The grass is cool beneath his feet, and he sits with his back against the wall, looking up at the stars. He wonders if Duddits is up there, smiling down at them. He hopes that if there's a Heaven, it's a big one, and they let him watch Scooby Doo every day.

Inside the house, most of the guests still linger: Roberta, Henry, Jonesy's family, Pete. Pete is standing in the kitchen tempted to check the Clarendon fridge for a beer, but he's trying hard to resist the urge. He remembers quite pointedly that he has a tendency to make an ass of himself when he's drunk, and for Lynn's sake - but even more for Duddits' and Roberta's - he hasn't drunk a drop all night. But the lack of it's beginning to get to him, the twitch in his hand, the knot in his stomach. If there was ever a time he needed some alcohol, it'd be now.  
  
Pete has never felt quite so alone, despite the fact that he's been holding Lynn's hand all night. She's been quieter than usual, except now, because she's impatient to get back home - to Bridgton. She hates small towns like Derry, even Bridgton gets dull for her taste. Lynn is a New Yorker at heart and Pete knows it, so she's hardly pleased to be spending the evening cooped up in a place like Lamar's house. But Pete tells her he can't go yet, because this is in honor of Duddits' and he says she doesn't understand, even though that's the one thing he told himself he would not say to her.  
  
But it's too late and she's got that almost-screech in her voice that comes even when she's not yelling, "I"m trying. I'm trying to be supportive of you, Pete." And she throws down his hand. Normally, he'd go after her, but he doesn't this time. She's already gotten quiet, and Henry's doing his magic where he says the right thing and keeps her from crying. Pete needs fresh air, however, and he steps outside, seeing Beaver out on the grass.  
  
And even though he doesn't have that bond with the other four anymore, he can sense that quiet sadness that the Beav's feeling, because how can he not be feeling it? There are only four people in the world who understand what Pete feels right now - Roberta Cavell, Beaver Clarendon, Gary Jones, and Henry Devlin. Pete drops down beside Beaver, saying nothing, just staring out at the stars, wondering if they'll help him find his way, because Pete feels like he no longer knows left from right. He can't see the line anymore. 

Beaver doesn't even pretend to ignore Pete as he swings himself over the wall, sitting down beside him. Instead he just watches Pete, whose eyes are directed toward the sky, and for the first time in almost twenty years, he wonders what Pete's thinking. But he doesn't say anything, because words never seem to work at times like these. And besides, he'd wind up saying something stupid and unprofound anyway. He couldn't do that... not when Duddits deserved everything wonderful and deeply profound.   
  
The voices in the house seem to get harder and harder to tune out. Maybe that's because Beaver can no longer hear the voices of his friends in his head. And he feels lost. He feels like he's stumbling around in the dark and there ain't a fuckin light switch to be felt. He feels like crying, because no matter how many times he calls out for Duddits, there's just no answer. Not a single fucking one.   
  
Tilting his head back against the wall, Beaver has to close his eyes because he's feeling the sting building in them. He wants to say something, but he'll be fucked sideways if he knows what. And it's so hard to think without having someone else inside there with ya. But there he is. And there he'll be.   
  
"I never knew I was afraid of the dark, Pete," Beaver simply says. His eyes are glazed over when he opens them, and he knows that when he blinks, the tears will spill over and that'll be it. He won't be able to stop it.

It scares him too and Pete opens his mouth to say so, closes it, and then opens it again. Still the sound doesn't quite come out. His glance has a sort of helplessness in it as he looks at Beaver, and a sigh slips off his lips, as he clears his throat.   
  
"I know, Beav," is all he can really manage to say, and he gives a slight incline of the chin. His fingers sift through the grass which is cool against his skin, pulling little bits of them out of the ground and twisting them apart. He wishes he knew what to say or do, but he doesn't, especially now that there's only this strange sort of silence that lingers in his head.  
  
But talking's easier after Pete gets the first few things out. He swallows hard, biting back the sting in the back of his nose, and ignoring the tightening in his chest. "He was everything," Pete says referring to Duddits. "For the four of us. He's what made us really. Now it's like we've lost the one good thing that kept us together... I haven't a clue, Beav. I haven't a clue where we're going now."   
  
Pete hates the way he feels now - at a complete loss at what to do. If he were angry, it'd be so much easier. He could react to that, but now he's just drifting, going someplace that he isn't guiding, like a piece of driftwood in the river being dragged along by the current. 

Beaver turns his head to look at Pete, but he can't seem to direct his eyes from the stars and down at the other man beside him. He blinks slowly and he feels a tear rest on his eyelashes before spilling down his cheek. He makes a motion as if to reply, but he can't. The thickness in his throat is too much and he can't seem to swallow back.   
  
He's finally able to look at Pete, his chest tight and throat closing up. Beaver's chin sticks out just a little and anyone could tell that he was trying to hold tight as best he could. But his chest gives a violent hitch and he's suddenly grabbing at the front of Pete's dress shirt, his fingers clenching tight into fists as he falls down against his friend, pressing his face into Pete's shoulder.   
  
"Where are- where're we gonna end up, buddy?" Beaver asks, his voice choked as his shoulders shake, quiet sobs beginning to work through his body. He wants to ask what's pressing on his mind, but he doesn't even know how he could find the words. He wants to be sure. Fucking Jesus Christ he wants to be sure. Sure that they'll all be friends after this and they won't let anything break them apart. Because if Beaver's ever needed anyone in his life, it was his friends.   
  
But they've lost everything. They've lost Duddits. They've lost that link that held them together and now all they can do is face the inevitable. And Beaver wishes more than he can fucking breathe that he could tell this to Pete. He could beg Pete not to leave him. But he can't. All he can do is clutch on to his friend and cry. _You always were the fuckin weakest of the bunch_, Beaver thinks to himself.

Pete's watching Beaver and the way the tears slide down his cheeks, and Pete thinks he would cry to, but he can't seem to find the tears. There's only the ache inside of him, no crying, just the long steady pain that seeps through his body, the Emptiness. That's what it is, and Pete knows what it's like to really be lonely now, even though he's always thought he'd had to fight loneliness in the past. He wonders, like the Beav - although neither of them know that - whether or not they'll drift apart after this, in a way that Duddits never let them before.   
  
When they'd realized Duddits was sick after that one November a few years ago, it had brought them closer than they'd been in years. But maybe that was just the short burst of second wind that came before the end, rather the way a light bulb would flicker one last time brightly as it had in its prime before it finally died out.   
  
Pete reaches out to put his hand on the Beav's shoulders. "We can't forget him," he says with a fierce sort of determination. "And we can't let this be the end of us, either. If Duddits was what held us together, then we ought to stay together in honor of him." It's a silly sort of saying. The kind of pact that boys make when they're still young and heedless and believe that they still have control of their future and life doesn't just take you somewhere you didn't plan. Pete knows as well as anyone you can't make a vow and know for sure you'll keep it. But still, he squeezes Beav hard on the shoulder.

Beaver looks up at Pete when his friend's hand clenches over his shoulder. He knows his eyes are wide, and they're stinging against the cool night air that seems to swim in around his glasses, but he can't help but to look that way. Because what Pete said was exactly what he was thinking, and he can't help but wonder if maybe Pete could hear him.   
  
But the way Pete's looking at him now tells him that he didn't, and Beaver feels that cold darkness creep back into his chest and expand. "Yeah . . ." is all he's able to get out as he pulls away from Pete, the other man's hand slipping off of his shoulder.   
  
He looks back up at the sky, because somehow that just seems a helluva lot easier to look at, to think about, then to try and face the truths. Pete obviously has no problem facing 'em, and hell, maybe that's how things should be. _So carefree and wiser of the four_. Pete would never let on, but they could always see it in his eyes. When they were growing up, Pete, being the youngest, was always the quiet one. But he'd be the first to jump in whenever someone was needed, and Jesus-Christ-bananas, Beaver always respected that about the old boy. He wasn't some weak, sentimental hack like Beaver.   
  
No. Pete was something else. He was strong -- he was strong because of Duddits. And no one outside of their group knew that. It was something that was never said but always understood.   
  
Beaver tips his chin up, eyes directed skyward as more tears fall, and he thanks Duddits for making them all something they'd never be. For making them better than they ever dreamt to be.

But it's hard, that kind of quiet they now have with each other. Pete stands up because he's feeling too antsy to stay sitting down on the grass, and that stillness. Pete has never really been able to keep still the way some of the others have. He's always moving something, even if it's just his finger, in that comfortable _tick-tock_ motion. But his hands are clenched at his sides right now because he knows that kind of fidgeting would give him no comfort now. He'd not be able to see the line - not even the yellow ones that used to stand out so brightly.   
  
Pete sets his jaw, tight and clenched till the muscles in his cheeks begin to get sore. He's staring up the sky with Beaver, and then he heaves a sigh, turning back towards the house. He's not ready to go inside, but somehow, being back in Derry, being back at Lamar's old place, staring up at the stars that he used to as a kid. It somehow makes the sting a little worse.   
  
_You should have been an astronaut. You deserved to be_, Pete thinks to himself. He's always figured he deserved a few things in life. Not that he figures life really owes him for any good he's done - hell, really he's probably in debt with some of the shit he's done. But sometimes, just sometimes he'd like to have gotten something he really wanted.   
  
_Like a family? Like Lynn who's pregnant with your baby? You've got that coming, Petesky. _  
  
He looks down at the Beav, whose still teary eyed and watching the stars, and god, Pete wishes he could feel the way Beav does. Because he hates himself for not crying. He feels like a fucking cold fish, but it isn't that he isn't hurting. But he knows what his father would say, "Suck it up, Pete. Boys don't cry." But if they don't, why does Beaver look so beautiful when he does? Why does it make Pete more aware than in any time in his life that if Duddits was the foundation that held them together, the skeleton that gave them their frame, Beaver would be their fucking heart.

Suddenly it feels so cold. So fucking cold and Beaver's arms wrap tightly around his chest. He doesn't even know where he threw his coat when he came in, but he's pretty fuckin sure it's not out here with him. But even if he had his coat, he had the sneakin suspicion that he'd still be shivering. He can feel Pete looming over him and this makes him feel so small. He feels like he's so fucking insignificant and just -- just normal like everyone else on this shitdump of a planet.   
  
But Beaver starts to look over at his friend, sighing quietly before he's pushing himself up the wall, grass and tiny rocks sticking to his palm. He rubs his hands on the front of his slacks before he turns to face Pete, his eyes still bleary and his face streaked with tears.   
  
"Pete." he says quietly, the sound almost too choked to understand. But it's unmistakable that Beaver needs Pete because he steps forward, slipping his hand into his friend's, managing to thread their fingers together. He can feel the heat from Pete's palm seeping into his own cold hands, and that action alone somehow makes the darkness recede just a bit.   
  
A heavy silence sits between them and even the crickets outside of stopped chirping. The only sounds that can be heard are the winds rustling through the field behind his dad's shack and the rhythmic pounding in his ears. Everything feels so heavy and Beaver wonders when he ever thought he was strong enough to handle something like this.   
  
"I can't do this alone," Beaver finally says, his voice soft and quavering. He keeps his head turned toward Pete, his eyes fixed on the other man's shoulder. Pete's white shirt shines blue in the moonlight and Beaver thinks it's beautiful.

Beaver's hand is so different than Lynn's. It isn't just size, although that's part of it. Beaver's hands are bigger than Pete's, but Lynn has such tiny slim fingers compared to Pete's own. No, the difference is that Pete always feels like he's holding Lynn's hand while she just sort of lets him, but with the Beav, it's like they're holding each other's. Keeping it together as if every fibre of their muscles would spin apart if they let go.  
  
Pete strokes the back of Beaver's hand with his thumb, and he pulls him in closer, so that he can put his arm around Beaver, draw him close into a hug. Pete doesn't care so much whether it's manly or not. Beaver needs him, and in the end that's always been more important. He's always been somebody who wants to help, especially someone like Beaver - who's the type the world needs more of. The type that's usually always smiling - except in cases like these - that they can't help but make other's smile with them. The type that feels - really feels - has that sort of open sincerity about their joy and their sadness, that Pete can't even begin to fathom the sheer depth of what Beaver must be feeling, even though he thinks he gets some glimpse of it from the pain in Beaver's eyes.  
  
"You're not alone," Pete whispers, and his face is so close to Beaver's ear he can taste the heat coming of Beaver's body, and he can smell the scent of Beaver's shampoo still clinging to the strands of his hair. "You've got Henry, and Jonesy, and you've got me." And whatever comes their way, even this, they can get through. They've done things they never understood, never believed possible, when they were together.

Beaver puts up no resistance when Pete's hand guides him in, his own arm slipping around Pete's back as his fingers hold tight to the other man's hand. They're so close that he can feel Pete's chest rising in against his own, pushing him back, and falling back in as Beaver's chest cross-mimics each movement. Beaver thinks for a moment that this is good, that he hasn't fallen out of the beat just yet. That him and Pete are still on the same page, moving forward and together like mirrored reflections against silver glass.   
  
His shoulders shake with a tremor that starts at the base of his spine, and he knows that's partly caused by Pete's warm breath falling against his ear. He had never before realized he was so sensitive right there- but then again, no one but Pete had ever been that close or even cared enough to find out.   
  
But, despite the irrelevance of this little fact, he can't help but to press his face in against Pete's neck, breathing in deep. Pete smells like a mixture of a gentleman's aftershave and something that reminds Beaver of summer afternoons, just after a downpour. It's comforting, whatever the scent is, and Beaver can't help but to pull himself in closer, breathing against Pete's neck.   
  
Slowly, he draws his face up, his cheek rubbing against Pete's face as he pauses, preparing to turn in and look at Pete. Beaver can feel the tip of his nose resting against Pete's cheek, the other man's breath falling warm against his face.   
  
"I hope... you all know that you've got me. For whatever the fuck it's worth," he whispers, his hand tightening in against Pete's.

"I know, Beav," says Pete, even though he only half hears what Beaver is telling him, and it doesn't matter because Pete has always known that Beaver is there for him. Still it's nice to have him say it out loud. However, for the moment, he is distracted by Beaver's body and how it fits so snugly against his own. He's got his hand curved around the back of Beaver's head, his fingers through his hair, and running up and down the back of his neck.   
  
Pete doesn't know whether or not the Beav is still crying, but he can feel the dampness of his cheeks as they brush against his own, and Pete steps back so he can see Beaver's face again. His hand fluttering up to cup the side of Beaver's face, his thumbs smearing the remains of tears that still linger on Beaver's skin. Pete takes off Beaver's glasses, sifts his fingers through the Beav's hair, dropping a kiss on the side of his face.  
  
"Sing that song, Beav. The one you used to sing for Duddits," Pete asks, and he doesn't know if it's for himself, or for Beaver, or for the memory of Duddits that he wants it done. But he needs to hear it now, the smooth sound of Beaver's voice carrying that familiar tune, that always calmed the Dudds down.

Beaver's eyes close momentarily as Pete's fingers slide along his face, so warm and like he's never left. He feels his friend remove his glasses and Beaver blinks slowly, his eyes still wet, but the sting is gone, along with the darkness that had settled in his chest. He has a moment to turn his face into Pete's hand, placing a kiss against the inside of his palm, Pete's lips resting gently against the side of his face. Beaver's eyes slip shut and he nods his head slowly, swallowing hard.   
  
"Yeah... yeah alright," he whispers, his hand sliding down Pete's shoulders to rest at the small of his back, holding Pete against him, the fingers of his other hand holding on tight, his thumb brushing back and forth.   
  
And quietly, just barely above a whisper, Beaver starts to sing. He could never forget that first part, because his mom sang it to him, and he sang to Duddits first that day. And he closes his eyes as he focuses on the feeling of Pete's breath against his face and the words...   
  
"_Baby's boat's a silver dream, sailing near and far . . ._"   
  
Beaver pauses, his shoulders starting to shake but he keeps on going, trying to contain the overwhelming feelings that threaten to take over inside.   
  
"_It sails from here from Baby's room and to the nearest star; Sail, Baby, Sail, sail on home to me, sail the sea and sail the stars, sail on home to me . . ._"   
  
Beaver lets himself drift off, because he's not sure if Pete wants him to go on. He swallows slowly, not even realizing when he's leaning in, his lips coming to rest against the corner of Pete's mouth. He can feel his own warm breath against his lips, and he takes in a deep, shaky breath. He can't remember the rest of the song, so he just whispers quietly against Pete, "_. . . sail on home . . . to me._"

Before Pete knows what he's doing, his lips are covering Beaver's, his chin tilted slightly upwards so he can meet his mouth straight on. He's got one arm thrown around the Beav's neck, fingers still twisted around Beaver's glasses, and his other hand still tangled with Beaver's own.   
  
Later, Pete will try to blame this on alcohol, even though he will know quite well he hasn't had a drop, and when he cannot convince himself of that, he will blame it on the full moon, or the death of Duddits' and the loss of the connection with his friends.  
  
But for now, Pete does not think much about it. There is only the physicality of the act, the pressure of his mouth on Beaver's, his teeth scraping against Beav's lower lip, and the taste it leaves inside his mouth. If this is all that can make him feel...  
  
But deep inside, he knows it's more than that. He has always needed Beaver in a way that he doesn't need Henry or Jonesy. They have always been friends, the four of them, but even so, something about the Beav has always stayed with Pete in his darkest hours. The light at the end of the tunnel maybe.   
  
He should stop, Pete thinks dully, and he does, pulling away and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I'm sorry," sputtering apologies. "Shit. What am I doing? I'm sorry." He's reached out his arm, offering up Beaver's glasses back to him, his head lowered, eyes to the ground, and cheeks flushed red though the rest of his face in pale in shame.

Beaver doesn't have a moment to react before Pete's mouth is gone -- and it's not as though he would react if he'd wanted to. But the feeling of Pete's lips against his own refuses to disappear, and Beaver knows he must look stupid, standing there like that, his lips still parted and eyes glassy. He blinks slowly, Pete's apologies not even registering with him because in his mind, Pete did nothing wrong.   
  
But Beaver doesn't tell him that -- he just lets out a quiet sigh, reaching up to take his glasses. He doesn't put them on, but instead tucks the earpiece into his shirt. His hand slides back from around Pete's back and he reaches up, cupping the side of Pete's face. The skin beneath his fingers is warm, and Beaver shakes his head, trying to urge his friend to look at him.   
  
"Hey. Hey, man. Don't be." And Beaver can't help but to lean in, placing his lips against the center of Pete's brow. Something in his mind tells him that he should be apologizing too; hell, perhaps apologizing to Lynn and Mary Ellen, as well. But there's a big fucking part of him that tells him not to listen to that fucking nonsense and-  
  
Fuck. Duddits is smiling.   
  
Beaver pulls back a little to look at Pete, his fingers placing light touches against the side of the other man's face. There was a time in Beaver's life where he would have given up everything just to make Duddits laugh. In fact, he's sure they all would have given up something. But now . . . the Beav's got new duties. Everything's going to change and he makes a promise to Dudds that he'll never let Pete down. Whether or not Pete realizes this, Beaver will never know. But he hopes, that one day, he'll be able to prove it to him.   
  
"Thanks," Beaver says quietly, letting his hand drop down to Pete's neck, trying to offer soothing touches against the flushed skin.

Pete lets his eyes fall closed, the light brushes of Beaver's hands drawing across his skin. They send shivers down Pete's spine and he shudders against Beaver who is still standing far too close to him. But there is a stiffness to the way he holds himself now, muscles tensed, brain buzzing with alertness. He doesn't let himself lean against the Beav the way he had before. Because even this is dangerous, being so close and trying not to touch and wanting to so badly. Pete swallows hard.   
  
It strikes him then how very stupid he has been, that his love for Lynn, who is supposed to be his wife, does not even come close to how he feels about the Beav. Pete figures it's probably unfair to compare the two, because they're different types of love in the end. The kind that's supposed to be romantic and the kind that's of the platonic sort.   
  
But the truth is Pete has never loved Lynn, and he knows that now. He finds her sexy and stimulating and at times, interesting and fun, but he doesn't love her. He does not want to spend his life with her, and yet that is exactly what he is opted to do. It is funny how revelations like this always come to late. But it doesn't matter because Pete doesn't doubt he'd still be right back there with a wedding band on his ring finger. Lynn had not been simply a means of accepting responsibility. It had been an attempt to dull the loneliness.

Beaver can sense the stiffness in Pete's back, and he immediately takes a step away. He's already overstepped his boundaries and hell, it's one thing to be taken advantage of in a situation, but by someone who is supposed to be your best friend? Beaver doesn't want to be that kind of person. He doesn't want to use his lonliness as a way to guilt Pete into staying beside him. He can't. They've both got other obligations - fuck, did I say obligations? - inside. Wives. Wives who love them.   
  
Beaver looks down and soon, he's the one who's apologizing. "Fuck. Pete, I'm sorry." And he steps back against the wall, but the ground is a bit uneven - no, I'm just clumsy - and he stumbles backward before catching himself. He can feel the back of his neck burning in embarrassment, but he doesn't look at Pete. Instead, he keeps his eyes trained ahead.   
  
"You should probably head inside. I'm sure Lynn's wondering where you've gotten off to." He doesn't mean for his tone to sound dry, but he can't help it. The sooner Pete leaves, the faster he'll forget about Beaver trying to take advantage of the situation.   
  
Suddenly feeling sick to his stomach, Beaver slides down the wall, his elbows catching on the granite wall and skinning up a bit. He winces, but just falls to a sitting position. He remains still, just listening.

Pete knows it's his fault that Beaver's stepped away, because he can no longer feel quite right about the way he'd let himself lean on Beaver like that. Still, he doesn't move inside the house right away, instead his fishing around his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, because - fuck - if he can't have a beer, a smoke is the next best thing.   
  
"It was my fault, Beav," Pete says hastily when the Beav apologizes, and he says that not because he's trying to make Beaver feel better, rather he actually believes it. "I shouldn't have..." Kissed, is the word Pete is looking for, and it doesn't escape, only it feels funny as it starts to come off his tongue, so he swallows it away. "Done what I did." Somehow avoiding the occurance is easier. Pete wets his lips, places the cigarette between his lips, and lights up. The smoke leaves his mouth in little wisps of greyish white that disappate into the night air.  
  
He looks up at Beaver after avoiding his gaze for a long time, and he draws in a long breath, "I'll just finish this smoke and be on my way inside, but Lynn'll have a fit if I do this near her. She's worried for the baby, you know how that goes." He draws in a sharp breath, letting the taste of the cigarette fill his mouth and down into his lungs, and he taps it gently, watching the ash drop down to the ground. "Mary Ellen," he says suddenly as if he only just then remembered Beaver was married. "Is she gonna be worrying about you?"

"Nah," Beaver replies, drawing his knees up as he rests his cheek down against them. "She knows where I am. She can find me if she needs me." He takes a deep breath, and he can smell the burning tobacco from Pete's cigarette. Beaver's eyes flicker up to Pete's face and he knows he probably shouldn't, but -- oh hell. He doesn't have a fuckin pick near him, and it wouldn't be bad if he had just one.   
  
But he can't bring himself to ask Pete for one. He's already feeling sicker because Pete keeps saying it was his fault. And Jesus-Christ-bananas, why does he do that? But all Beaver can do is just sit there, his head tilted up and eyes fixed on Pete's face, watching the small wisps of greyish smoke slip past his lips. He's so beautiful standing there, face pale in the glow of night and mouth relaxed. Beaver closes his eyes, because just looking at Pete like that makes him want to stand up and kiss him again.   
  
Slowly turning his face forward, Beaver sets his chin down on his knees, letting his arms slip under the bottoms of his thighs. His slacks are beginning to cool and his feet are cold. He thinks to himself that he'll head in soon. After Pete leaves. 

Pete lowers his hand, staring down at the ground, at the grass that surrounds his feet. "Yeah," Pete says, voice soft and somewhat tired. "Mary Ellen, she's a real good lady, Beav. It's good the two of you have each other, especially at times like this." And it's hard to say those words because it makes him jealous to think that Beaver has Mary Ellen to talk to - the type who might actually listen - when Lynn will probably, go home and go to bed without so much as a hug or a smile - the sort of thing he really needs right now.   
  
Pete tilts back his head, the stars, the fresh air, the cigarette between his lips; they're things that usually make him feel better, except tonight, because Duddits is still dead, and the only thing that comes close to dulling the ache is the man standing a few steps away from him. And hell, he can't do much about that. Suddenly, Pete has lost the taste for the cigarette in his hand, and he offers the remaining half to Beaver. 

There's a spark of red right beside his head, and Beaver flinches back a bit, thinking that some of the cherry had flicked off of Pete's cigarette and was heading in a streamline for his shirt. But it's just Pete, leaning down, offering the rest of his cigarette. Beaver reaches for it without a single word, and quickly takes a long drag. He lets the smoke seep into his lungs before exhaling slowly.   
  
As the wind blows around them, Beaver shivers, and before he can stop himself, he's stumbling to his feet, quickly wrapping his arms tight around Pete. He pulls back, though, before he starts to make Pete feel uncomfortable, placing a hand on Pete's shoulder. Setting the cigarette between his lips, Beaver reaches down and puts on his glasses. His eyes are still red and he still feels childishly stupid for having cried earlier, but there's not much he can do about that now.   
  
Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Beaver flicks it once, letting his hand rest down at his side. He looks at Pete, taking in the other man's face, studying it carefully. He has the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him again, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes his hand from Pete's shoulder and rubs the back of his knuckles lightly over Pete's cheek.   
  
"You were always so strong, Pete. So... fucking strong." Beaver's eyelids grow heavy, and he sighs, dropping his hand as he turns away, his shoulders facing Pete.   
  
"Don't be an asshole and get back inside to your wife." Beaver pulls a long drag from the cigarette.

It's hard for Pete not to lean into Beaver's touch as his knuckles draw across Pete's cheek. A split second of enjoyment, his eyes falling closed, until the guilt begins to set in, and he can hear Beaver saying something about "his wife" and it makes Pete flinch. He lets out a slow breath through gritted teeth and it comes out like a hiss.   
  
Pete nods, and "Yeah. I thought you always told me Asshole was my middle name." laughing briefly at his own joke, even though it really isn't that funny. But really its the awkwardness of the situation that makes him laugh. He glances up at Beav again, and the way he has the cigarette slipped between his lips, the way he usually tucks his toothpicks between them.  
  
Pete thins his mouth and takes a step towards the doorway. "I guess I'm not too good at this whole husband thing." And when he says that, it's actually an apology. Another way of saying "I'm sorry I fucking kissed you. I'm a jerk." Pete runs his hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly, and he can feel the sweat that's clinging to the strands of his hair and it makes them feel slightly sticky. He wipes his palms on his pants and moves to take the doorknob.   
  
"You comin' too?"

Beaver turns to follow Pete, but stops, looking down at the wall. "Naw, I think I'll stay out here for a bit longer. If Mary Ellen's lookin for me, just tell her I'm out here." A brief glance and he's locked eyes with Pete. It's so hard not to run after him, not to pull him back and cry and beg for him to stay. But that would just mean that Beaver's the one who's bad at the whole husband thing. Pete's actually leaving. Beaver's the one that wants to stay.   
  
Sighing quietly, flicking ash from the cigarette, he throws up his hand, waving Pete off. "I'll be in a bit." Beaver knows that Pete will be leaving shortly thereafter and he won't even say good night or good-bye, and really, that's just fuckin fine with the Beav. Because everything else in this fuckin world has gone to shit, why not this too?   
  
And for a split second, he thinks he's about to start crying again, and he quickly turns around, leaning up against the wall. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. _Just go, Pete. Just fuckin go and don't think anymore about me. I'm not the one you want. I'll never be the one you want. Soon you'll have everything and you'll wonder why you ever kept a fuckerow like me around_.

He doesn't want to go. Pete's standing at the door, has it open a crack, so he can almost see inside, and that thought takes hold, takes root in his brain, and it's so hard to accept it as his own, even though he knows it has to be.  
  
But the feeling's so strong and so sudden that for a moment Pete thinks that it didn't come from him and he wonders if it's possible to still feel what one of the other three are feeling. An echo. A ghost. Like phantom limbs patients suffer from after having a part of their body amputated. But even in those cases, no matter how real that feeling is, it's not real.  
  
Still it makes Pete stop and turn around, and he's standing there, out back of the old Clarendon house, and he's watching Beaver still standing there beneath the night sky. And his feet must move faster than his thoughts because Pete suddenly finds him right in front of the Beav, and he grabs his chin, tilts him forward, and kisses him - fast and hard, and Pete can taste the ash of cigarettes tinting Beaver's lips. But Pete doesn't stop to say he's sorry, or "see you inside" or to check the expression on Beaver's face after he does it. No, Pete turns on the jets after that. He's dashing inside the house, to the safety of others, to the dull buzz of other voices and he can hear the door click shut behind him.

~fin


End file.
